


May

by lemonsorbae



Series: Shoe Box Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel gets the opportunity of a lifetime and Dean is his biggest cheerleader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from [tumblr](http://jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/post/87417677453/may).

A sharp, incessant ringing sounds through the apartment tangling through the fog of sleep that clouds Castiel's brain and dragging him to wakefulness. His first thought is that it's Dean's alarm clock and he wiggles further under the covers, absentmindedly pushing his face in-between Dean's cotton clad shoulder blades in an attempt to ignore the sound.

It doesn't help.

Usually Dean is quietly leaning over him at this point, trying not to jostle him as he slaps at the alarm clock and climbs out of bed, but Dean remains a sure weight next to Castiel.

" _De-an_ ," Castiel finally huffs, his voice coming out in a sleep-thick whine.

Dean shifts next to him, but doesn't otherwise move stating with a rough, tired voice, "'S your phone, Cas."

Castiel groans and rolls over, casting a glare at his phone where it rests on their nightstand, lighting up like a UFO and still singing its shrill praises into the quiet, early morning of the apartment.

He sighs and picks up the phone.

"Hello."

There's a chuckle on the other line and then Balthazar's tinny British accent sounds over the line, "I didn't wake you, did I, Cassie?" he asks.

"Dammit, Balthazar." Castiel growls as he fists a hand in his hair and closes his eyes again. Dean's breathing is deep and even next to him, and he hopes the other man has gone back to sleep. "It's 4 am here."

"Is it?" Balthazar asks and Castiel can tell by the tone of his agent's voice that he's trying to play dumb. "My apologies, darling, I lose track of time when I'm on holiday; I'll do better next time. But for now, I've some news."

"What news?" Castiel asks around a yawn, scratching idly at his stomach and then rolling from the bed and padding into the bathroom so his conversation doesn't wake Dean. He closes the door softly behind him and puts all his weight against it.

"In three weeks the Josie Sands Gallery of Contemporary Art will be hosting a show for up and coming artists. Everyone who's anyone is going to be there, Cassie, curators, buyers, it's a brilliant opportunity."

"I know about the show, Balthazar," he states, "I thought we missed the deadline."

"We did, darling, we did. But there's been a last minute opening for which I took the liberty of submitting your portfolio."

Castiel suddenly feels more awake. "You did?"

"I just told you I did, didn't I? Anyway, I don't know much right now, but I wanted to let you know to keep an ear open. They should be getting back to me soon regardless of whether or not they want your work. You may have to go in for an interview if they _are_ interested so keep your schedule cleared. Can you do that, Cassie?"

Castiel's mind is now reeling with the information Balthazar's just given him. Ever since he was a young, bright eyed college student Castiel has fantasized about having his art shown at the Josie Sands Gallery of Contemporary Art and suddenly, at 4am on some random Monday morning he's being presented with the possibility of that becoming a reality for him.  

"Have I lost you?" Balthazar asks across the line, pulling Castiel from his thoughts.

Castiel shakes his head, even though the other man can't see him, and then answers, "No. I'm still here. Yes, I can keep my schedule cleared."

"Brilliant. I'll be in touch then. Hang tight, yeah?"

"Yes. Thank you, Balthzar."

"That's what you pay me for, Cassie," Balthazar reminds him and then repeats, "I'll be in touch."

Once the call has ended Castiel remains in the bathroom for a few more minutes, his fingers pressed to his lips as a frighteningly large possibility dangles into existence before him.

As he leaves the bathroom, his mind a tangle of thoughts, and approaches the bed, the thought of trying to go back to sleep seems laughable. He's too tightly wound for that now. Instead he pads quietly to his easel where it rests beside the window and turns it until the waning moonlight hits it enough for him to see.

With a familiar buzz growing in his brain that he gets when he allows his work to envelope him Castiel picks up a paintbrush and falls into a world of color.

 

Several hours later, Dean wakes for school. Castiel barely registers the beep of Dean's alarm and doesn't even realize Dean is awake until the other man is standing directly behind him, running warm fingers along Castiel's bare shoulders and pressing kisses into his back and neck.

"Couldn't sleep?" Dean asks because every now and then Castiel is too engrossed in a project, his brain too focused on something that sleep is impossible; tossing and turning in the sheets as his mind continues creating even when he's beyond the point of exhaustion.

Castiel remains quiet for a moment, an arm arching high to fill in some color in the top corner of the piece he's working on. Dean takes the opportunity to run his hands down Castiel's sides, along his ribs, stopping only when they reach the waistband of Castiel's underwear. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's waist and rests his chin on Cas' shoulder.

"Baby," he mutters. Castiel hums in acknowledgement. "Come shower with me," Dean requests as he noses at the skin just behind Castiel's ear. Castiel shivers and Dean swipes his tongue along the sensitive area. "Cas," Dean says when Castiel doesn't respond.

"Okay," Castiel answers absently. "I'll be in in a second, Dean."

Dean sighs and kisses him one more time and then leaves the room.

After a few more swipes along his canvas Castiel steps back to observe his work. He's been painting for nearly three hours now and has made impressive progress. Perhaps it will even be ready for the show. If he gets a spot.

With a heavy sigh Castiel puts down his paintbrush. He offers his canvas one more speculative glance and then leaves it to join Dean in the shower.

A heavy fog has already collected in the bathroom. Castiel never turns the fan on when he showers, likes the thickness in the air curling around him, enveloping him completely, and although Dean often gives him shit for it, it seems Dean's left the fan off for him anyway.

Castiel shimmies out of his underwear and climbs into the shower where Dean already stands, under the steady stream of hot water pouring from the faucet. Dean smiles at him, almost as if he's surprised Castiel actually joined him, and Castiel offers him a small smile back.

"Hello, Dean," he mutters quietly.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel moves closer to Dean and the water and turns himself until he can press his back against Dean's chest. Dean takes the hint and wraps his arms around Cas' waist and drops his cheek to rest against Castiel's neck.

"You okay?" Dean asks against Castiel's skin. His lips are warm, his skin slick against Castiel's own and Castiel shifts against him to rest more of his weight on the other man.

"Yes."

"Who was on the phone earlier?"

"Balthazar," Castiel responds, closing his eyes as Dean works his lips over Castiel's neck, "He called to let me know he's submitted my portfolio to be considered for a spot at an art show in a few weeks at the Josie Sands Gallery of Contemporary Art."

Dean's lips still on his skin and then Castiel feels himself being turned around and soon finds himself looking up into Dean's wide, green eyes, an excitement burning behind them and a smile growing on his face. "Seriously?" he asks.

Castiel nods, "Seriously."

Dean is full on grinning at him now and Castiel is doing all he can to keep a smile of his own from growing on his face. Dean's smiles have always been infectious.

"When will you find out if you got in?" Dean wonders.

Castiel lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. "A few days, I suppose. The show is in about three weeks; I assume they'll need to make a decision somewhat hastily."

Dean's still smiling as he cups Castiel's face in his hands and draws him in for a kiss. "You'll get in," he states matter-of-factly.

Castiel clutches at Dean's sides, closing his eyes and letting Dean's enthusiasm wash over him as he mutters quietly, "I hope so."

 

The news comes on a Wednesday afternoon when Castiel is idly sketching Vincent, who's curled up on the deep windowsill in the sun. He reaches for his phone without looking away from the cat and answers with an absentminded, "Hello."

"Cassie, I just got off the phone with the lead curator at Josie Sands''."

When he hears Balthazar's voice Castiel sets his pencil down and presses the phone more insistently to his ear, giving his agent his full attention. "And?" he asks, unable to keep the fear of rejection out of his voice.

"And they want you in for an interview this weekend."

All the air leaves Castiel's lungs as he listens to Balthazar prattle off the rest of the details, where Castiel is expected to be and at what time, things he needs to do to prepare and when the two of them finally hang up the phone Castiel's head is swimming, and a nervous anticipation is building inside his chest.

He has to tell Dean.

He sets his sketchbook aside and steps hastily into a pair of shoes, whether they're his or Dean's he isn't sure, and hurries down the dimly lit stairwell, trailing his fingers along the chipped paint on the wall, brushing over cracks that have long since needed to be repaired and imperfections that most people would complain about, but that Castiel feels give their apartment building character.

As he approaches the shed that acts as Dean's shop he can hear Dean's rock music pulsing against the walls, breaking up the shrill scream of the table saw. Castiel shakes his head and smiles. When Dean is in his shop, he is truly in his own element and, in Castiel's opinion, when he's at his most beautiful.

When he cracks open the door he's hit with the smell of sawdust and lacquer, smells he now associates with Dean, and his eyes travel to where Dean stands, bent over his work table, his lips moving along with the song as he measures small pieces of wood.

Instead of interrupting the other man, Castiel moves to lean against the wall, the flutter of nervous excitement temporarily abating as Castiel watches Dean work. Dean is in a thin gray t-shirt, sweat gathering around the collar and at the small of his back, but even through the thin fabric, Castiel can see the flex of Dean's back and arm muscles as he moves about the shop.

Dean saws through the middle of a 2x4, his hands firm and true against the wood and the handle of the saw as he cuts, and when the noise of the saw quiets, Castiel finally calls out Dean's name across the shop.

Dean looks up from his table and over in Castiel's direction, a smile breaking across his face when he sees Castiel watching him. He reaches for the remote to the CD player and turns down his music before approaching Castiel, wiping the sweat from his brow as he walks.

"Hey, babe."

Castiel smiles in return and reaches out to curl his fingers through Dean's belt loops, pulling the other man close to him until their chests are brushing against one another's. Dean rests a hand on the wall just beside Castiel's head and places a brief kiss to Cas' lips.

"What's up?" Dean asks.

"Balthazar just called," Castiel states as he peers up into Dean's attentive green eyes. The nervousness has returned, his stomach a mess of knots, but Dean doesn't say a word, just cocks an eyebrow at Castiel and waits. "They'd like me to come for an interview this weekend," he finishes.

Dean's grin deepens, his hands coming to cup either side of Castiel's face. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice going quiet with excited pride.

Castiel nods and then Dean's lips are on his own, hungry and insistent. Castiel wraps his hands around Dean's forearms, kissing back with just as much vigor, giving himself over to Dean's enthusiasm for a few brief moments.

"This isn't a yes, Dean," Castiel states when they pull away, "I still have to interview."

Dean offers a little shrug. "You're half way there," he points out.

Castiel nods. "Yes," he says, "I suppose I am."

 

Although Castiel's interview isn't until Friday they head to the gallery on Thursday evening after Dean's done with school for the day. It's about a two hour drive and they pull into the hotel just as dusk kisses the horizon and spills out across the sky.

Balthazar isn't meeting them until the following day either and so they grab a quick dinner and turn in for the night, stripping down to nothing but their underwear and channel surfing for a few hours.

Castiel's afraid he won't sleep, his body riddled with nerves, but once he's tucked up against Dean's back, the warmth of his fiancé's skin seeping into his body, his eyelids droop and he falls into a steady, seamless sleep.

 

Castiel awakes the next morning with an anxious fluttering in his chest. He's never been this nervous about anything before and is unsure how to channel his energies. He lies wrapped around Dean with his eyes closed, listening to the other man's breathing, long pulls in and out that soothe Castiel's nerves ever so slightly and offer him a sense of calm.

Normally on mornings like this he'd slip out of bed and take advantage of the stillness of Dean's body, the soft, warm lines of his sleeping form by sketching him until the sun was high in the sky and the world around them began to awaken. He contemplates doing so now, but his heart rate picks up when he thinks about it and so he remains next to Dean, burrowing more deeply underneath the covers and closing his eyes against the rising sun.

He loses track of time after awhile, isn't sure whether it's been ten minutes or forty since he woke up, when Dean rolls over in his arms and blinks sleepy green eyes at him.

"Hey," Dean mutters with a crooked grin, the constellation of freckles that dance across his nose and cheekbones barely visible in the dim lighting of their hotel room.

"Hey," Castiel says back.

"Big day today," Dean notes.

Castiel nods.

"You nervous?"

"More than I'd like to admit," Castiel answers. Dean smirks at him and brushes their lips together.

After a moment or two of soft kisses and gentle touches Dean rolls himself on top of Castiel, nosing along the sensitive skin of Castiel's neck and nipping lightly around the stubble at the column of his throat.

Castiel slides his hands smoothly along Dean's sleep warm skin, wrapping his arms around the other man's back and pulling him down until Dean rests fully on top of him, Dean's morning arousal nudging against Castiel's own half hard cock.

"Don't give me a hickey, Winchester," Castiel grumbles as Dean fixes his mouth to Castiel's neck and laves at it with his tongue, "It wouldn't be appurtenant of me to show up to an interview with your teeth marks on my neck."

"Can't have you being anything but appurtenant now, can we?" Dean asks as he pulls away with an obnoxious smack of his lips.

Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean's sarcasm and thrusts his hips up, rubbing against the other man's arousal, causing Dean to hiss.

"You gonna join the party or what, Cas?" Dean asks when he realizes Castiel isn't fully hard. Castiel huffs at him and Dean works a hand beneath the waistband of Cas' boxer briefs, pulling him out, and stroking him until he fills completely.

After that things go a little hazy around the edges. Castiel registers Dean working himself out of his underwear just enough for his length to slide deliciously against Castiel's own and then his senses hone in on Dean's hand wrapped around the two of them, jerking them in long, rough tugs. It's uncomfortable for a few seconds, without lube to ease the way, but when Castiel gives himself over completely to the pleasure, everything else melts away.

Dean peppers kisses along Castiel's neck and jaw as he works them to completion, never stopping long enough to leave a mark, per Castiel's request, and Castiel grips at his back and shoulders as he slips deeper and deeper into a Dean's touch.

Dean has always had a way of knowing just how to take him apart and put him back together again.

Soon that familiar pull he gets right before orgasm begins to build in his lower abdomen and he lets out a frantic breath, scratching his nails along the freckles peppered across Dean's shoulders.

" _Dean_ ," he breathes.

Dean's grip tightens around them ever so slightly and with just two more tugs Castiel's body goes taught and he's spilling all over Dean's hand. He lets out a soft sigh and falls back into the pillows, breathing deeply through the pleasure haze now clouding his brain.

After a few seconds Dean's hot spend drips onto Castiel's belly and knowing Dean has come too, Castiel lets his eyes slide closed, heavy with post-orgasmic bliss.

Dean rolls off of Castiel and curls against his side, one hand coming to rest on Castiel's chest, the other brushing along Castiel's jaw line. "You gonna get rid of this peach fuzz before tonight?" Dean asks, both of them attempting to get their breathing under control.

Castiel hums lightly, his brain still a little muddled, before answering, "Probably not."

Dean smiles and kisses him.

 

Castiel has a good few hours before he has to be at the art gallery and so he and Dean decide to explore the town a bit before the interview. They drive aimlessly around the town, sunlight pouring in through the windows of the Impala, turning everything to gold and making the world glow. After taking a few side roads they end up on an artsy street full of locally owned shops and decide to stop for brunch at a cafe tucked in-between a store selling handcrafted Native American pieces and a second hand clothing store. It's when they're nestled into a booth at the cafe that they hear about the sidewalk chalk festival.

"You boys here for the festival?" Their waitress asks as she sets their food down in front of them.

Castiel merely shakes his head, but Dean looks up at her and asks, "What festival?"

"The sidewalk chalk festival down on Park and 5th? Your fingers have chalk on them," she points to Castiel's black stained fingers and he glances down at them himself. He'd only sketched for a few minutes in the car, but his chalk had still left a residue behind, one he hadn't noticed until now. "Thought that might be why," the waitress continues.

"We're actually here because he has an interview at the Josie Sands Gallery of Contemporary Art," Dean brags, flashing a proud smile in Castiel's direction. "He's in the running to have his art featured in a show they're having in a few weeks."

Color blooms on Castiel's cheeks as the waitress turns wide, impressed eyes on him. "Really?" she asks, "That's a fancy gallery to be considering you. You must be really good."

"I hope they think so," Castiel answers, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the attention.

"Well good luck, sugar," she tells him, "I hope they choose you."

Castiel offers her a small smile. "Thank you," he says, "me too."

"In the meantime, if you boys have time you should really check out the festival," their waitress reiterates as she turns to leave their table, "some of the stuff they do down there is just amazing."

"Thanks," Dean tells her, "we will."

After lunch Dean gets directions to Park and 5th.

"Sounds like it could be cool, huh, Cas?" Dean asks as he follows the direction the waitress gave him.

"The only art I want to focus on right now is the art JSGCA might be interested in showing." Castiel replies. He knows it sounds snappish of him, selfish, childish even, but he's never had to deal with anticipation like this before and he doesn't like the squirming feeling that won't leave his insides.

"C'mon, Cas, it'll be fun. It'd probably be good for you to do art for fun for a change."

"I do art for fun," Castiel grumbles as Dean pulls onto a street that's roped off about half way down and maneuvers the Impala into a tight space along the side walk.

"Not like this," Dean says, his eyes fixed out the window.

In front of them there are people milling about everywhere, some young, some old, and although they can't make out any specific images, they can clearly see the sidewalks are alive with color.

Castiel's interest is piqued.

"You wanna go look?" Dean asks, killing the engine to the Impala.

Castiel offers a shrug of nonchalance and a smile skips across Dean's face.

"You fucker," Dean mutters as he reaches a hand out and pulls Castiel in for a kiss by the back of his neck. Castiel smiles into the kiss. Dean knows him too well.

They climb out of the car and make their way to where the throngs of people are gathered. There's music playing, something steady with no lyrics, and the smell of greasy foods permeates the air. Even though they've just eaten, Castiel's stomach grumbles with mild interest.

Walking along the brightly colored sidewalks, their shoulders brushing amiably, they observe the intricate portrayals of forest fairies, and Wonderland, and Bob Dylan. Some pieces are clearly drawn by children, amateur lines and circles with little to no detail etched into the grain of the sidewalk, while others boast of real talent. Castiel finds intrigue in both.

They stop for a few minutes to watch a band of street performers, banging on overturned trash cans and doing break dancing moves in a space they've cleared for themselves on one of the busier sidewalks, and Castiel takes the opportunity to slide his fingers between Dean's and squeeze. Dean turns to him and offers a wide grin.

"Told you it'd be cool," he states, his voice going cheeky and satisfied. Castiel offers him a kiss.

They move on, passing a stand selling Navajo tacos and another offering homemade jewelry, and soon they find themselves at the end of one of the sidewalks where a large parking lot rests. It's void of any vehicles, but full of people of all walks of life scattered on the ground making their own creations. There are children hitting chalk on the ground in careless excitement and teenagers laughing as they take turns lying on the ground and outlining one another's bodies with sidewalk chalk, but regardless of what they're using the chalk for, they all have the same look of  enjoyment on their faces.

As they stand and observe, Dean nudges Castiel's shoulder and points to a bag of chalk that isn't being used. "Have at it, Mr. Fancy Pants Artist," he says.

Castiel hesitates for a few seconds before deciding Dean is right, art for fun probably _will_ do him some good, and then bends to pick up the bag of chalk and sets out to find an empty space in the parking lot.

He works for almost two hours. People stop to admire his work, a larger than life version of Dean's face, but he's immersed enough in his art that he doesn't feel too scrutinized.

After some time his muscles begin to ache from sitting on the hard ground for so long and the heat of the sun beats down on his neck with an angry purpose. His hair is curling at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat, and most of his skin and clothing is covered in bursts of colorful chalk dust, but when Castiel stands to survey his work, all of that becomes insignificant to the feeling that blooms in his chest over what he's created.  

Dean's face has come to life beneath him, every freckle and smile line captured on the sidewalk; even the flecks of gold in his eyes shine almost as brightly as the real thing.

He's drawn Dean more times than he count, but it's never looked, or felt, the way it does now.

"Wow, Cas," Dean breathes as he comes to stand beside Castiel, his eyes cast downwards at the sidewalk. "I was going to bitch about having my face on the ground, but this is awesome."

"That was fun," Castiel admits, a small smile alighting on his face. Dean smiles back at him and ruffles his hair before tugging him closer with a hand cupped around his neck and pressing a kiss to Castiel's temple.

They stand quietly for several minutes, looking down at Dean's face as everyone else bustles about them. A light breeze picks up, dancing pleasantly through Castiel's hair and blowing bits of stray chalk dust around the parking lot, and Castiel is suddenly filled with gratitude towards Dean for dragging him along.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel says, turning his gaze to study the side of Dean's face. He looks over at Castiel, his green eyes melting to gold in the bright sunlight, his freckles pronounced in brilliant flecks along his nose and cheeks, and smiles.

Castiel is drawn out of his thoughts when a woman comes to stand next to him, her eyes scanning Dean's face on the ground.

"Is this yours?" the woman asks, turning briefly to glance at Castiel before looking back at the ground.

"Yes."

"It's beautiful," she comments, "I'm not typically one for realism, but this is stunning."

"Thank you," Castiel says.

Castiel expects the woman to move along and look at the rest of the art, but she doesn't. Instead she turns her gaze to Castiel. "Do you do this professionally?" she asks.

He shifts on his feet a bit. He's never been comfortable standing face to face with those who are observing his art work, that's why he hired an agent in the first place, so that he only had to worry about doing what he loved and sending it off to be handled elsewhere.

"This was just for fun," he informs her, "but yes. I do sell my work."

Her grey eyes light up. "I'd love to see more of your work," she tells him reaching for the purse she has slung around her shoulder.

That's when Dean pipes up. "His works going to be at Josie Sands' in a few weeks," Dean states, "you should check it out then."

Castiel shoots Dean a death glare and the woman's hand pauses inside her purse.

"Are you?" she asks, her tone colored impressed.

"I have an interview this evening," Castiel corrects, "nothing is official yet."

"Well," the woman says with a warm smile, "good luck at your interview then. I'll look for your work at the gallery."

Castiel nods at her and then the woman is turning and walking away.

When she's gone, Castiel turns his gaze to Dean's and shakes his head. Dean flinches before Castiel's fist even hits his shoulder.

 

When Balthazar arrives in town they meet him for a late lunch at a mom-and-pop place close to their hotel. Dean grumbles about Castiel's agent being there at all, making offhanded comments about the man's character and lack of tact, but Balthazar has been a good agent for Castiel and he's grateful to have his guidance through this experience so he ignores Dean's protests.

Upon seeing him the first thing Balthazar says to Castiel is, "Dear god, Cassie, please tell me you're going to shave."

"I hadn't planned on it," Castiel admits, his eyes scanning aimlessly across the menu, avoiding Balthazar's gaze.

"Wrong answer, love. I doubt the prestigious JSGCA will even give you a second glance if you go in there looking like a Neanderthal."

"I do not look like a Neanderthal," Castiel grumbles as he sips at his water. The cool condensation gathering on his glass is a welcome sensation against his overheated palm and so he wraps both hands around it letting the cold seep into his hands.

"Right," Balthazar snarks, "and I'm not the most attractive bachelor in London."

"Finally," Dean butts in, "something we can all agree on."

Castiel offers his agent a victorious smile and Balthazar gives Dean a balking scowl.

"Well you haven't had a haircut either, which I advised, so the beard must go. That's why I'm here, Castiel, to make sure you represent yourself properly."  

Castiel sighs, his eyes flicking to Balthazar's. "Fine," he says, "I'll shave."

Balthazar smiles. "That's my boy."

 

After lunch and with about an hour to go before Castiel's interview, he and Dean head back to the hotel.

Castiel's stomach is alive with nerves again and despite the time crunch he stands under the hot spray of the shower for as long as he can, attempting to get his racing thoughts under control.

When his fingers begin to prune he finally steps out and wraps a towel around his waist, padding out into the room on unsteady feet.

"I didn't bring my razor," he tells Dean whose eyes are glued to some cop procedural show on the television. His voice sounds strange in his own ears, almost disconnected and he berates himself for getting this worked up over the situation.

"I brought it for you," Dean tells him, going to dig through their bags and coming back with a smaller bag that holds Castiel's razor and shaving cream. "Figured you'd have to shave," Dean explains as he hands the bag to Castiel.

Castiel looks down at it and nods, remaining still for a good few seconds until he finally wills his feet to move.

Once back in the bathroom, Castiel stops up the drain in the sink and turns on the hot water to fill the bowl. As he waits he rests his hands on the smooth porcelain and studies himself in the mirror.

He's tried to mask it since Balthazar first told him about the opportunity, but in all reality, Castiel is terrified of the gallery turning him down.

He's been telling himself all week that even if they do say no it won't hurt his career at all. He'll still be able to paint and sell his art just like he always has, but to be accepted would literally be a dream come true and for the first time since his career began, he dares to hope.

At the gentle press of a hand against his shoulder Castiel jumps, too immersed in his thoughts to realize Dean was watching him from the doorway the whole time, and when he looks over he's met with wide, concerned eyes.

"You want some help with that?" Dean asks, his eyes darting to the razor in Castiel's shaking hand, and then back to Castiel.

Castiel looks down at the razor, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be doing something with it and then hands it to Dean with a nod.

Several minutes later Castiel finds himself seated on the counter and the sink full of warm water. Dean squirts a dollop of shaving cream into the palm of his hand and goes to smear it on Castiel's face, but pulls away at the last second.

"Before it's gone," Dean says with a small smile and then he kisses Castiel on the lips and nuzzles at Castiel's cheek and then he's smearing shaving cream along Castiel's cheeks and chin and dipping the razor in the water.

"I like your scruff," Dean states almost morosely.

"Me too."

"No more fancy interviews after this, huh, babe? Then you can walk around looking like Si Robertson for all anyone cares."

"You wouldn't like that, Dean," Castiel points out.

Dean offers him a small shrug, "I don't know, it might be kinda hot."

One side of Castiel's lips twitches up into a smile and then Dean cups the back of Castiel's skull with his hand and begins to drag the razor over Castiel's skin. Castiel closes his eyes and allows the methodical downward glide of the razor lull him into a hushed calm.

The bathroom quiets as Dean works, the only sound the scratch of the razor as it rids Castiel's face of hair, and the occasional slosh of water each time Dean dips the razor into the sink. Dean's hand is sure and true at the base of Castiel's head, his other hand working with a practiced ease and before Castiel knows it Dean is rubbing a wet towel over his freshly shaved skin and drawing him in for a kiss.

When they pull apart Castiel rubs a hand over his face, his skin now smooth to the touch.

"How you doing?" Dean wonders as he lets the water out of the sink and drops Castiel's razor and shaving cream back in the bag.

"I'm nervous," Castiel admits for the second time since this opportunity was presented to him.

Dean holds Castiel's face in his hands and stares intently into his eyes. "You are going to do awesome," he says seriously. He rubs his thumb idly along Castiel's cheekbone and when Castiel nods, Dean presses a kiss to his forehead.

Castiel feels much better after that.

He dresses in a pair of slacks, a white button down, and a simple, black, skinny tie and Dean drives him over to the gallery's corporate offices where Balthazar is waiting for him.

Dean kisses him one last time and reminds him he's "going to do awesome," and then Castiel is climbing from the Impala, greeting Balthazar inside and stepping onto the elevator.

"Now remember, Cassie," Balthazar starts, reaching out to straighten Castiel's tie, "curb your sarcasm and for god's sake don't scowl at them. You're selling yourself here, not just your art."

Castiel nods and all too soon the elevator doors are sliding open and Castiel is being ushered into his interview by a brunette who introduces herself as Hannah.

He's only left waiting for a moment when a woman enters the room and sits behind the sleek cherry wood desk at the head of the room. As soon as Castiel sees her face, his stomach drops to his feet.

It's the woman from the festival who complimented his art; the woman Dean lied to about Castiel's art beings how at JSGCA.

"Hello, Mr. Milton," she says with a knowing smile as she settles into her chair. "My name is Naomi, I'm the head curator on the show we have coming up in a few weeks."

"Hello."

"I'm going to be frank with you, Castiel," Naomi says, avoiding any further pleasantries.

Castiel's stomach does a somersault. Her words do not sound encouraging.

"Before today I thought I had made up my mind on whose work I wanted to take the place of the artist who withdrew from the show. I went to the festival to celebrate my decision. It's an annual tradition and I enjoy seeing young artists create in an environment where they don't feel pressured. I feel it brings out the true artist in them." Castiel nods his head in understanding and Naomi continues.

"I said I was going to be frank because the artist I had chosen was not you. You've monopolized on a certain style, I'll give you that, but going through your portfolio I couldn't grasp the... passion I was looking for. There's a difference between art created for sale and art created to make people feel something. I, like most people, have found I prefer the later and until I saw you at the art festival, I saw your work as art for sale.

"Seeing you work, Castiel, was an amazing experience for me. I saw your passion for art come out in sidewalk chalk in the middle of a parking lot while sweat dripped down your nose and children stopped to watch you 'color'. _That_ was the kind of heart I was looking for and when you mentioned your interview with JSGCA I knew exactly who you were and I wasn't ready to give up on you just yet.

Castiel listens to the woman with rapt attention, unable to handle the anticipation that's building with every word leaving her lips. If she's going to say no, he'd rather she just do it and save him the heartache.

What she says next catches him completely off guard.

"Mr. Milton, do you have your sketchbook with you? The one you use for pleasure?"

Castiel nods.

"May I see it?"

His hands immediately go to the messenger bag on the floor, the one full of things Balthazar had advised him to bring including his sketchbook. He pulls it out of the bag and rests it on his lap for a moment, studying it quietly. The edges of the paper have gone soft from being toted around absolutely everywhere Castiel goes and the spiral wiring holding it together has been smashed more times than Castiel can remember. It's in pretty rough shape.

Most of what's inside the sketchbook is seemingly mindless work, nudes of Dean as he sleeps in the early morning light of winter, landscapes of their city in springtime, and Dean doing mundane things around the apartment such as weeding the garden or tuning up the Impala. But while it's all pieces that look like they were created for an assignment at school, they're actually the sketches Castiel holds most dear. They're snapshots of his world, snippets of how he sees things, and handing it over to someone else is like handing them his journal.

He slides it across the desktop with a barely contained tremble in his hands and a burning in his cheeks. If he remembers correctly the first page contains a sketch of Dean's bare backside as he naps after a particularly satisfying round of lazy afternoon sex.

Naomi opens the book, her expression unchanging, and flips through the pages, pausing longer on some sketches than others, but never commenting. When she finally reaches the end and looks back at Castiel, her eyes have a softness to them, as if something within the pages of Castiel's leisurely work has resonated with her.

"This has passion," Naomi tells Castiel, tapping her finger on the cover, "this is what I saw today that made me rethink deciding against your art. When I look at these, I can see you truly love what you do and that no matter what I or anyone else says is going to deter you from doing it. That is the kind of artist I'm looking for, Castiel. I apologize for not seeing it earlier in your portfolio, but I see it now and because of that I'd like to extend the invitation to you to have your art shown in three weeks in our gallery."

Castiel's brain stutters to a halt. Sine Naomi started her speech he was certain she was building him up only to let him down. He had already begun consoling himself over the rejection, but here he was being offered the opportunity of a lifetime and he couldn't even form the words to accept the offer.

Naomi waits, her calculating gaze never leaving Castiel's face and he finally manages to make his mouth form a few simple words to let her know he accepts her invitation. "I accept," he says and then instantly regrets it because he's sure there's something more proper he could have said, but Naomi is smiling at him across her desk and reaching her hand out and so instead of retracting the words to try again Castiel simply accepts her hand and shakes it gratefully.

"Wonderful," Naomi says, "your work will need to be expedited to our studios and there is a contract that will need to be signed, but we'll be in touch with your agent about all of that."

Castiel's head is still spinning and so he simply nods and stands when Naomi does.

"I look forward to working with you, Castiel," she says as she leads him to the door, "you're an incredible artist and I'm eager to watch your career cultivate."

"Thank you," Castiel states, doing his best not to mutter despite the fact that his brain is still trying to process everything that just happened.

He and Naomi share a few more words and then Castiel is leaving Naomi's office and heading towards the lounge he left Balthazar in nearly twenty minutes prior. When he rounds the corner he finds not only his agent waiting for him, but his fiancé as well and his heart leaps in his chest.

Dean has been there for him through it all. He's coaxed Castiel through countless roadblocks and days shrouded with self-doubt, his face always being the one thing Castiel has to revert back to that still makes him feel like creating something beautiful. Now that face, the face that always believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself is staring at him with a nervous anticipation.

Dean stands as Castiel approaches and Balthazar averts his gaze from his phone to look up at Castiel.

"Well?" Dean finally croaks into the silence that's built around them.

"I got in," Castiel replies plainly, unable to keep the smile from his face.

"You got in?" Dean repeats, his expression growing with a surprised kind of pride that Castiel desperately wants to kiss.

Castiel nods. "I got in."

Balthazar thrusts a fist into the air and Dean rushes forward, grabbing Castiel's face and pulling him in for a kiss that speaks of victory and relief. As their lips work together Castiel notes Dean may be more excited about the news than Castiel is.

They break apart, Dean pecking Castiel on the lips once more, and then Castiel gives Balthazar the details he knows and answers the few questions Balthazar asks. When there's nothing left to be said Dean takes Castiel's hand in his own and leads them towards the elevator.  

"Let's go, baby," he says, "I think a congratulatory blow job is in order."

Balthazar scoffs behind them. "Good lord you two, I'm still here."

Castiel shakes his head and bumps Dean's shoulder affectionately, but doesn't otherwise protest because if he's being honest, a congratulatory blow job sounds like the perfect way to celebrate.


End file.
